Tabula Rasa
by Windstorms
Summary: Dean becomes a demon again. Sam tracks him down. Things end differently this time. :Gen. Set vaguely in season 10. No spoilers beyond 10x03.
He's been chasing Dean for months. Hunting down every lead, every mention of anything even remotely demonic, every figment of someone's imagination that might lead him to his brother.

No. Not his brother. The demon.

Sam has to differentiate between the two, because holding onto emotions, onto family, onto what they were now can be the difference between life and death. For either or both of them.

He finally catches up with Dean in an abandoned warehouse outside of Detroit.

He clutches the demon blade in his hand and swallows. Tries not to think of the last time, of a bar in North Dakota, his arm in a sling and the odds stacked against him.

Just like they are now.

"Dean."

"Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up... here." Dean cocks his head. "Right, Sam?" The demon is standing over a pile of bodies. Human or demon meatsuits - there is so much blood Sam can't tell and he doesn't want to know.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but it's over." There is blood pooled all over the floor and splashed up the walls. The metallic scent is already making him dizzy, but the sickly sweet stench does nothing to the demon that is his brother.

"I told you not to come after me again, Sammy. No more Mr. Nice Guy."

That name uttered by this _thing_ makes his stomach twist, but he raises the knife. "You're my brother. We can still fix this." There's enough blood stored in the trunk of his car that he can cure him again. All he has to do is subdue him, slow him down, stop this train wreck from escalating...

"No. We can't. You're going to turn around and walk out of here. Forget you ever found me. Forget you ever saw me. Forget you ever knew me."

"No."

"No?" Dean tilts his head fractionally to the side, studies him with mild curiosity. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

Sam really doesn't. A demon - yes, but a Knight of Hell that's fully embracing the Mark? He doesn't know what he's dealing with.

 _Dean_ , a voice inside his head stubbornly supplies.

In the end, he can't distinguish between them at all, really. A part of him always knew it would be his undoing.

His brother's eyes flash tar black, a cold smile quirks the corners of his mouth. He casually toes at the body closest to him, smearing his boot in their blood and licking his lips.

"Wanna taste? How long has it been since you fell off that wagon anyway?"

Bile rises in the back of his throat. Sam ignores the taunt, fingers the blade a little tighter. He'll use it this time. Whatever it takes, this is going to end.

The demon sighs and mutters something about how humans are no fun. Dean walks towards him and Sam only has enough time to think one of them is going to die before Dean stops a good six feet away, casually raises his hand towards Sam's head and _pulls_.

Just like that, the ache in his chest loosens. The feeling of missing a phantom limb that has been plaguing him for months is gone. He feels lighter somehow.

Confused, he looks around the room at the bodies and the man standing a few feet away watching him with amusement.

Sam doesn't recognize him. Distantly, he thinks that should probably bother him, but he feels nothing at all. He can't remember the last time he did.

"They were demons." The man says, and yes, that sounds right. Sam isn't sure how he got here, what he was even doing here, but the man's voice is strangely comforting and Sam believes him for some reason.

"You saved me." The stranger continues, an odd lilt to his voice like he's either trying to test Sam or calm a rabid animal, or both. Sam looks down at the knife in his hand and finds no traces of blood on it. That doesn't make sense.

"Do I know you?" Sam asks.

"No," the man says, and a brilliant smile lights up his face. "I was just passing through. Got into some trouble. Thank you for the help."

The last time Sam felt this disoriented after an obvious fight had taken place an angel had been possessing him. But this feels different. He doesn't feel like he's lost any time at all. One moment he was in the car and the next he was standing here.

He knows that can't be right so he looks at the stranger more closely, quickly assessing him. His clothes are disheveled but the blood on them doesn't appear to be his own. He doesn't seem to be injured at all.

Sam tightens his grip on the demon knife; because while he doesn't feel threatened, whatever is going on here has to be supernatural.

If anything, his confusion seems to entertain his new companion even more. "I think you took a blow to the head during the fight," the guy says. "It doesn't look too bad though. You'll be okay."

His head doesn't hurt, and he shouldn't trust this man at all, but something about him seems familiar. For a long second, Sam just stares at him. He's missing something important, some remnant of a memory is teasing at the corners of his mind, and if he could just take a moment, focus on it -

"I'll be going now," the man says.

With that, the moment is shattered, and whatever flicker of memory that had been dancing on the edges of his mind is gone. Sam hears the words but doesn't lower the demon knife, his gaze remaining locked on the man as he looks into green eyes and feels like he's missing something obvious.

"Wait." Sam takes a step forward, reaching out towards the other man with his free hand.

"What is it?" The man steps away to avoid his touch and fixes him with a bemused smile, and if Sam wasn't still so certain he was forgetting something crucial, he'd feel like he was being patronized.

"Are you a hunter?" He's not sure why he's asking, but he finds himself wanting to know something - anything at all - about this person. He doesn't even know his name.

The man's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he recovers quickly and shakes his head. "I was once. Not anymore."

The smile the man gives him is so rueful that Sam is left standing there like a deer in the headlights long after he is gone.

He stays behind at the warehouse for a while. He can't shake the feeling that he's just lost something important.

Nothing comes to mind.


End file.
